


A Hundred and Seventy-Seven

by fits_in_frames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-06
Updated: 2007-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1557650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're drunk," Sam says, as if he needed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hundred and Seventy-Seven

**Author's Note:**

> _because maybe_  
>  _you're gonna be the one that saves me_  
>  _and after all_  
>  _you're my wonderwall_  
>  {oasis // wonderwall}  
> 
> 
> Written for [](http://pretty-stickers.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://pretty-stickers.livejournal.com/)**pretty_stickers** , round 5. Spoilers through "All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2".

They have a stupid fight about nothing (technically, it's about what they're going to do for dinner, and it aches of domesticity) that ends with Sam storming out and walking to the library a few blocks away. He does research (a little of everything, including crossroad demons), then stops at the diner across the street and gets a cheeseburger and a Coke.

Dean, apparently, chose Jack Daniels instead.

"Sammy!" Dean says, when Sam walks into the hotel room just after nine, spreading his arms and spilling half his shot of whiskey on himself, which he then tries to lick off his hands. He's sprawled out on a rickety chair with no arms. A hundred and seventy-seven days left until the hellhounds come, and Dean's made friends with the bottom of not one, but two bottles, which are lying under him on the floor. "Sam-sam-sammy!"

"You're drunk," Sam says, as if he needed to.

"I am!" Dean slurs after downing the last bit of whiskey from his shot glass. "I am very, very drunk, Sammy. I had a lot to drink. I am drunk."

"I can tell," Sam says, putting his bag down and getting over to Dean just in time to catch him mid-fall as he tries to stand up.

"Sammy," Dean says, grinning maniacally, grabbing at Sam's collar to steady himself, "I'm really fucking drunk."

"I know," Sam says, standing up, still holding Dean upright. "Now let's get you into bed before you crack your skull open."

"No," Dean says, pulling on Sam's collar now, "Sammy, you don't understand. I am really. Fucking. Drunk. I've _never_ been this drunk. Ever. Ever ever ever." He pauses, cringes, and swallows. Sam doesn't really want to know. "You know all those girls I fucked, right? I was drunk when I fucked them, really fucking drunk. But I was never this drunk. Not ever."

Sam is tempted, for a moment, to just pick his brother up and carry him across the room slung over his shoulder, but reasons that the vertigo alone might make him throw up all over everything, and Sam does not feel like having to deal with the short, stern-looking cleaning lady he saw this morning when he went to get breakfast. Instead, he hooks one of Dean's arms around his neck, and one of his arms around Dean's waist, and helps him half-walk, half-flop over to his bed.

Dean, half-sitting, looks up at him with wild eyes. "Sam."

"Dean, don't--" Sam starts.

"Sammy, you can't. You can't let those fuckin' sons of bitches get me, Sammy. Haha, get it? Sons of bitches, and they're hellhounds, I'm a fuckin' genius."

"Dean," Sam says, "shut up."

"Sam, you know that, right?"

"Dean," Sam says again, trying to shove him into a horizontal position, "shut _up_."

"Sammy." Dean is suddenly very serious, though he's far from sober. "You can't. You just can't." He takes a hold of Sam's collar again. He pulls him so close that his hot whiskey-breath starts to sting Sam's eyes. "Sammy. That psychic, she told me how I was gonna die, Sammy. She said they were gonna rip the meat from my bones. Sammy, you can't let that happen."

"Dean," Sam says, quietly, "please shut up."

"Sammy, you don't understand. You don't--you don't understand, Sammy. You're the best damn hunter I've ever seen. Sammy, you have to. You just have to." And then, without warning, Dean starts sobbing--big, wet, gulping sobs, with his hands shaking and his chest heaving and everything. Sam is kind of terrified, but he knows that Dean won't remember this in the morning, so he kneels down and wraps his arms around his brother, and just holds him until the shaking stops and Dean is drooling into the crook of his elbow.

He gets Dean situated, carefully, then brushes his teeth, gets into his own bed, turns off the light, and instead of _good night_ , he whispers, "I'm sorry."


End file.
